


To judge a book by its cover

by Muspell



Series: Hardbacked and Leatherbound [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Author's self-indulgent work, Clubbing, M/M, dj otabek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:33:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muspell/pseuds/Muspell
Summary: After the Rostelecom Cup, Yuri waits for a call from his best friend; he hasn't seen him since the competition and he wasn't hanging around at the hotel. He had 'something to do'.Yuri gets invited to a club in the meantime.how bad could it be?





	

Yuri was happy. Ecstatic even. 

He  finally had gotten the chance to skate with Otabek Altin, not only at Worlds, but at one of the competitions leading to the GPF. The Rostelecom Cup specifically. 

Which meant he could probably take Otabek Altin finally home to meet his grandfather. 

He was euphoric.

Two of the most important people in his life  were finally going to meet. After two years of Yuri’s incessantly rambling about his friend to his grandfather and viceversa, it was finally going to happen.

He just had to ask first. 

He didn’t quite know how. 

And the whole Viktor-following-him-everywhere-with-his-fiancé-by-the-hand wasn’t making it any easier. Sure, he hadn’t seen Otabek getting back to the hotel yet, but the presence of the all too sugary couple was making his stomach twist. 

And they wouldn’t leave him alone, asking and prodding about him, while walking down the street. About how Otabek wasn’t with him. If he was preparing a surprise for Yuri. If they were gonna go out that night, since the Rostelecom was over and the had the whole night off. If Yuri had talked to him already. If-

“Shut up, geezer!” Yuri might have been anxious, and his palms sweaty, his phone on a death grip on his hand, yet hidden in his pocket, but they were not helping. At all. 

Otabek had said he had ‘somewhere to be’, whatever that meant, and that he’d let Yuri know when he was free. Which was way out of Yuri’s plans: he did not have the intention of spending one more minute with any other skater, so he had absolutely nothing in his plans if Otabek wasn’t around. He especially wasn’t keen to spend the afternoon with these two, who couldn’t stop fondling each other for one second. And couldn’t fucking shut the hell up. 

“He said he was gonna text me, ok?” He turned only to yell back at the couple.

Yuri just hoped he wouldn’t forget. Otabek would never forget about him. Right?

He suddenly bumped against someone.

He was about to snap at them when he saw the shadow towering over him next to the person he just crashed into. Maybe not. That was not someone he wanted to get into a fight with just now. 

This was a pretty big someone, even for the likes of Viktor: buffed up like hell and every inch of his arms tattooed, a healed cut here and here. A permanent scowl imprinted on his face and his long hair, shaved into a mohawk, draped over one side of his face, falling to his shoulders. He seemed anything but friendly. Definitely not like the type of guy Yuri could handle in a fight, even as irritated as he was. 

And he wasn’t even alone, even when he was the tallest of the four strangers. A guy was standing to his right, looking defiantly at him, more scrawny than slim, his shoulders popping out almost sickly out of the guy’s tattered sleeveless Sisters of Mercy’s shirt, covered by his wavy brown hair. To his left, a girl that should have been smaller than him if it weren’t for the gigantic platform on her combat boots, torn stockings covering the paleness of her legs, barely reaching the lacey seam of a notoriously short checked patterned dress and her pitch black hair tied in two high pigtails, a series of neon green braids and highlights contrasting against the dark crowning her head.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. 

From the woman he actually bumped into. High heeled boots and sober black dress and raven black hair. 

And a gaze that looked awfully familiar.  Yuri was sure he recognize that intense glare from somewhere, like it was trying to read through his bones, to get to his very soul.

He flinched at the moment she spoke:

“Plisetsky?”

He stared. A hand on his shoulder pulled him back: Viktor stood in between him and the gang now completely focused on Yuri. 

They were clearly here for him.

“What do you need with the kid?” Viktor spoke clearly, as if he wasn’t scared shitless as well. They didn’t seem to be here to have a chat over some tea. Yet Yuri couldn’t possibly remember them from anywhere he was positive he didn’t know them. He couldn’t have done anything to piss them off. He would remember the likes of them.

They were pretty noticeable. And their stance alone meant trouble. 

Yuri would have been offended by Viktor’s words in any other moment: right now all he did was get back next to Katsuki just to be ready in case anything happened. 

He had no idea what he should be getting ready for, anyways.

The woman spoke again, calmly. Somehow that made her more threatening. “We have a message for Yuri Plisetsky.” She took a step forward, a flyer on her hand, “Do you mind?”

Yuri came closer: curiosity was always stronger than him. He didn’t dare take a look at the paper, just folded it and put it away before Viktor’s accusatory glare. The woman smiled. 

“Think about that.” They turned to leave but she took a moment and tilted her head back once more: “The name’s Aidana, by the way. Nice to finally meet you, Yuri Plisetsky.”

They finally took off, leaving the three skaters dumbfounded, standing on the sidewalk. 

Viktor was the first in breaking the silence, lifting up a finger to point at Yuri. 

“Anything she’s given you, you’re not going.” He gritted his teeth staring at the direction the gang was leaving. “You’re not going after them, you’re not seeing them. And that is final.”

“You’re not my father, Viktor.” Yuri spat out. He still had no intention of seeing these guys any day soon, but that didn’t mean he’d let Viktor have the satisfaction of shutting him up. 

“Yurio, We’re worried about you.” Added a notoriously pale Katsuki, now holding the arm of his fiancé, probably to keep him quiet enough. After all, he wasn’t showing the usual false smile he did when he scolded Yuri, the smile that meant things weren’t gonna go well for him. 

This time he was serious. 

“Let’s just go back to the hotel.” Yuri was about to protest but Viktor cut him short, “I need to have a word with Yakov.”

 

* * *

  
  


Yuri layed sprawled on his hotel bed, jacket and shoes still on, staring at the dark screen of his phone. 

No messages

He couldn’t have forgotten. He wouldn’t.

But then again, today was weird enough. Who knew,. Maybe he should just send him something, a ‘hello’, a dumb pointless comment. Anything.   
Or just ask him where the fuck he was .

But Otabek wouldn’t just forget about him. He never would. 

Yuri fished the balled piece of paper from his pocket. It was a flyer for a party. A nightclub of some sorts. He wasn’t old enough to get into those; why would he even get invited? He wouldn’t be for a few months yet.

He was tracked down to get invited, apparently. Somehow it was important. 

He studied the paper more carefully: there wasn’t an actual theme for it, it looked just like another normal club night, but for a surprise guest DJ. He knew that couldn’t be all there was. 

He saw a tight small scribbling at the bottom of the printed letter, a simple phrase written in pencil in a rush, so light he could have look past it. If it wasn’t written in Cyrillic: clubs that were targeting tourists, such as this one, never used cyrillic for their leaflet, and rarely any Russian at all. 

“Come see me?”

No signature. No name. No particular mark of any kind, no nothing. He didn’t even recognize the fucking handwriting. I mean, who gave handwritten stuff anymore?

But only one person slipped through his mind. He couldn’t be.

Could he?

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri fidgeted in his seat all throughout dinner, listening to a serious looking Viktor speaking about ‘some thugs looking for my Yurio’ to a borderline hysterical Yakov that had already seriously threatened to take his cardkey away just to make sure he couldn’t go to see them. For his own protection, of course. That and for the sake of Lilia, who looked pale and about to faint at any minute, but still held her lips pressed firmly shut. 

Katsuki was just trying to control his husband, even though he was probably the one who came up with the idea of locking him  in in the first place. 

As if Yuri wasn’t responsible enough to take care of his own self. He was gonna be eighteen in just a few months, damn it! And it was not like he hadn’t had a drink before.

Carefully watched by his coaches. All the fucking time. Or hidden in his room, just Otabek and him.

Then again, also carefully watched. Otabek would snatch the bottle from him when he felt he’d had enough for the night. Even with just beer. And the guy didn’t even get tipsy! Yuri wondered how someone as quiet as Otabek, that seemed to have never had a night out  _ in his life _ , could drink him under the table so easily. 

Of course, Yuri was voluntarily forgetting the fact that practically anyone could: he winced when he remembered the way he held onto Beka for dear life, desperately looking for contact after a bit over one beer. And he was perfectly lucid, just slightly off. He would have prefered to just get shitfaced all at once so he wouldn’t have to remember. 

He still refused to make any comment, sulking and retreating himself from the conversation. If he were to actually take the invitation they had no way to stop him.  And he could only think of one person who could have invited him; he didn’t mingle with any of the other skaters. 

Still, what the hell could Otabek be doing at a nightclub?

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri was still browsing Instagram absentmindedly: he knew there wasn’t gonna be any updates any time soon. It was past eleven already and everyone was either asleep or partying. But as for him: he was separated from his coaches by the thin wall of the conjoined rooms, and a door that didn’t even have a lock. They could come looking for him at any minute just to check he was around.

But he was bored as hell. And hadn’t heard anything about his friend in a good while. 

It was normal to worry, right?

 

And since he hadn’t had any sort of heads up from him, it was normal wanting to find out what the hell had happened to him. And what was with the gang that stopped him on the street. And with the eyes of that girl; he could swear he knew that look. He couldn’t just pinpoint where from.

He decided. He got up and rummaged on his backpack for some outfit that made the bouncers not to think he was a minor. Luckily the few inches he’s gained the past couple of years and his waist long hair could help with that. 

And most definitely the leopard printed leggings clashing against the black of a pair of combat heels and a oversized black shirt. He stood in front of the full body mirror at the closet door. 

Now he looked like a tall, disheveled blondie playing grown ups. Damn it. He had to ask for help and he knew exactly who to call. Which didn’t mean it was going to be any easier. 

  
  


He doubted about knocking, a fist hovering over the closed door, until he heard laughter. She was awake. 

“Oi, baba!” He didn’t even bother knocking. “Open up!”

He heard the ruffling of socks against the carpet and the door opened with a quiet huff of irritation and the phone on her other hand. “Yes, kit-”. The sentence got cut off short at the first glance of Yuri. 

Mila stopped dead in her tracks just to stare, studying every little detail, from the heels to the mess he might have been called a hairstyle. Hoodie styled. He knew damn well it was a mess. “Are we going out?”

“I need your help.” He said, looking at the ground beneath his feet. Why was her staring making him so self-conscious? He didn’t look  _ that _ bad, did he?

“Yeah, well, I’m noticing that.” She ran her hand through his hair and got tangled before reaching the line of his ears. Yuri could see her wince at the work she’d have to put on it. “One condition, though.” She waited until he felt obligated to nod. Who else was there to help him, anyways? “You don’t get to complain. At all.”

Well, he was definitely about to, but since she took the nod as a token of blind faith, he got dragged by his wrist into the room and on the only chair in it faster than he could say anything.  

He was also manhandled against the back of the chair as his hair got tugged back. Fiercely. Repeatedly. 

“Hey, bitch, what the hell are you doing!”

“I said no complaining, kitten!” She replied, almost singing. “Your hair's a mess, it’s not my fault,” and she tugged at it again, slowly untangling the knots. Yuri just scoffed in frustration: he knew there was nothing he could say to stop her. 

“What are you gonna do?” He was hoping he had the chance to get any saying in his own hairstyling, even though he knew Mila well enough to know it wasn’t happening. It wasn’t so terrible though: she had a good eye for it, but still, the thought of those guys who stopped him seeing him again with a particularly… Feminine touch bothered him for some reason. He didn’t know why but he knew he wanted to make a good impression.

He started to think the heels could have been a bit much.

“I’ll make you look badass.” She loomed over him to see his face: he was smirking. “That’s what you’re going for, isn’t it? Combats boot and all?”

Well, he definitely did not look that bad then. 

 

It took her a bit less than an hour, braiding and unbraiding his hair until she felt it was perfect: a tight dutch braid pulling his hair back enough to look like a sidecut, while the rest of it was brushed up and over the side. He stared at his own reflection standing in the full body mirror like it was an apparition. She knew what she was doing, he knew she could pull it off.

Although he had his reservations when she approached him again, eyeliner in hand. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”  He flinched visibly. There’s no way he was gonna let Mila play around his eyes with that thing. No way.

“I said no complaints, kitty.” She looked at him like the fucking Cheshire cat as he desperately started looking around for a place to hide. He knew that face. That was her ‘I’m gonna do what I’m planning to do and you can’t fucking stop me’ face. The moment he hesitated to make a move she caught his chin in her hand, licking her lips. 

“This is gonna be fun.”

 

He was literally gaping at his own reflection.

Like, wow. He did not look like a minor at all.

In fact, he looked like anyone else going clubbing. 

No, scratch that. He wasn’t one to humble brag. He looked fucking hot. And grown up. The bright green of his eyes deepened by the thick black around them, crowned with a soft yellow shadow that reached the line of his eyebrows, The black tailed back as the yellow tailed forward, making his eyes cat-like, older. Alluring. 

He couldn’t have asked for anything better. Well, maybe one thing.

“What the hell did you put in my mouth, Mila? It tastes funny.” 

“Well,” she said reappearing from the bathroom where she went to change while he was way too distracted checking out the detail on his make up, an impossibly short black dress where there were gym pants and a tattered shirt before, “that, my boy, is caramel flavored lip gloss. Keep it on, it’ll make everything taste better.” She winked at him while pressing something into his hand. 

He couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine. It always happened when Mila winked at him like that. It meant trouble, and he knew it. 

“What do you mean by that, baba?”

“You know, just…” She gave herself a moment to apply the dark red lipstick on her lips, “everything. Just keep it.” She turned to him before winging her own eyeliner. “Trust me.”

He turned and realized what was happening a bit too late. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Oh, I’m coming with you.” She smirked as if she knew there was no way he could say no. 

He was most definitely going to say no. 

There was no way he could let her go with him  and embarrass him in front of... Well...

He didn’t really know anyone there, right? He was just hoping he did. And he was a minor after all; she wasn’t. 

And she actually knew how to drink. Moreso, she was the toughest drinker he knew: even Viktor had trouble keeping up with her. 

“Ugh, fine, if you have to. But don’t you dare say anything weird!” He pointed at her like he wasn’t somehow obligated to take her. 

She followed the game. Luckily. 

“Of course, kitten. I’ll play nice.”

“And stop with the kitten thing!”

 

* * *

 

 

It was at walking distance; one problem less for the aftermath. Not that Yuri was already thinking about getting completely drunk out of his wits. He wouldn’t dare: he still was a famous world champion. In a fairly obscure sport, but still. 

And he wasn’t exactly sure what he was capable of when drinking. Going to a club for the first time was probably not the best way to find out. 

They walked up to the door sure of themselves, heads up and confident.

The bouncers didn’t buy the facade and asked for IDs anyways. Mila didn’t show hers, just looked at Yuri: she could get in, but she wasn’t willing to leave him alone. 

Out of despair, Yuri remembered the name, and tried the only thing he could think of:

“We’re looking for Aidana!” 

The bouncer glared at them, suspicious. He walked in to talk to someone and came back, saying nothing. Yuri and Mila looked at each other, confused. 

A moment passed and the long raven haired girl appeared at the door. She smiled at them and whispered something on the bouncer’s ear. 

He opened the door for them. 

 

“So,” Aidana turned to them the second they reached the bar, following her in between the dark dancefloor and the flickering lights. A heavy distorted base filled up the air, making the whole atmosphere so much more confusing. It didn’t sound like anything he’d heard before: he was sure he could hear guitars somehow under the growled voices and the  [ synths.   ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N5MTcYjSPmg)

He couldn’t help but move along the sound, even leaned on the bar as he was. 

“What’s your name?” He heard Aidana say to Mila, but missed the rest of the conversation. Mila was smiling. They probably got along. 

“Plisetsky!” He turned to the bartender and stared for a second. He knew that guy. Not only that; he’d caused enough of an impression for Yuri not to forget that face. In fact, he was pretty sure even Viktor wouldn’t forget him. The huge mohawk guy grinned at him from the other side of the bar. “What can I get you?”

He had no idea. He never had had a drink made for him before: it was only beer and cheap vodka, or champagne on the competitions’ galas. And he knew better than to start the night on straight vodka. He wasn’t  _ that _ naive. 

Still he took long enough for the guy to choose for him. Long enough for the bartender to put a cold glass in front of him without being asked. 

“The name’s Nuro. Nice to meet you, champ. Enjoy.” The bartender turned around to keep on serving drinks while Yuri turned to watch the people on the dancefloor. Mila was way too into her conversation to help him look for Otabek and he didn’t know anyone else there. 

He wasn’t even sure if otabek was even there. He wasn’t daring to get into the dancefloor just because. He was in a club, and people came to dance, right? He should. But it felt weird somehow. 

It was all too threatening for him right now.

He just wanted his friend around.

He took a sip of his beverage -whatever it was, it was sweet and lemony, and didn’t leave the burning sting of alcohol on his throat- that became a long gulp. He decided he liked it. And the music. 

He turned to the DJ booth and saw the figure subtly dancing to their own beat, barely touched by the lights, as if they were in their own private world. Still, looking at them dance was mesmerizing, even when he could see there were clearly professional dancers on the floor. He saw the DJ twisting their hips and bouncing at the coming and going of the beat like it was engraved in their bones. 

He didn’t even notice when he finished the drink. It didn’t matter: he was definitely in need for another. He turned around to ask Nuro when a small shot glass was placed in front of him; Mila had that Cheshire smile again. 

Damn it. But he was not one to reject a challenge. 

He downed the whole thing and slammed the glass down, wincing at the liquid fire going down his throat. That was not vodka. Whatever that was, it must be lethal. That did not feel like something people drank because of the taste of it.  

Mila cheered and Aidana besides her smiled fondly at him. Her smile reminded Yuri of someone. 

He needed to find Otabek. 

He also needed to take that awful taste out of his mouth. He yelled at Nuro who prepared him another pale green drink and handed it to him along with a beer. Yuri looked up at him, questioningly.while Nuro leaned over the bar to reach him.

“Would you take that beer up?” Seeing the confusion of the blond, Nuro pointed to the DJ booth. “That’s my friend there, he needs a drink.” 

Yuri saw the perfect opportunity to see who was that stunning figure dancing against the lights. He wasn’t going to say no. 

He probably would have if he knew the floor was gonna spin so much under his feet at the very first step he took off the bar. He still kept on walking, as straight as he could, around the mass of sweaty people jumping up and down on the center of the club. 

He took a moment before coming up the stairs to the booth; it could get complicated. But then again, it might get interesting: there was something alluring about the DJ, the way he moved, unaware of the crowd around him. Of course, he had to manage to get upstairs without stumbling and dropping the drinks in his hands. He put both of them on the third step and took the lip gloss Mila had given him out of his pocket. Maybe the sweet taste of the gooey thing on his lips would help him forget the hard alcohol on the shot he’d downed. 

Yuri walked up, a drink in each hand, and stared down: the crowd dancing as if they were one, unconsciously syncing together under the flickering white lights that made his head move on slow motion for some reason, left him in awe for a second. A second long enough to feel a hand on his shoulder.

“Yura.” He turned to see the figure he was gawking at, clearly now: hair slicked back on a ponytail, yet with some shorter strands from the undercut out of place, framing his forehead, a tight v-neck shirt with the sleeves rolled all the way up, tight faded jeans and the huge headphones in his hand. Yuri had finally found him. Where he had found him was the part he was having trouble understanding. “You came.” Otabek smiled and Yuri felt like the floor suddenly disappeared under his feet.

Fucking booze.

Otabek took the beer out of his hand and placed it beside the console, along with the headphones. He turned to him again and reached slowly to his mouth with his fingers, softly brushing his thumb under Yuri’s bottom lip. 

Yuri was certain he had stopped breathing at some point, completely stunned by the gentle way Otabek approached him, his eyes fixated on him as if he were to vanish the moment Otabek turned around. 

He certainly did not expect the slight stuttering on Otabek’s voice when he spoke again. “Sorry, you had a- a bit of…” right. The fucking lip gloss. His mind ran on a good number of different ways to try the the taste of that damn thing in under two seconds, and scolded himself right after. 

_ It makes everything taste better, after all. _

Yuri had to do something to break this awkward silence between them before the sheer lust the idea of his friend dancing to the beat awoke on him started to crawl up to his face. Or worse, down south. Leggings couldn’t hide much and he was relieved his shirt was long enough to cover any possibility of a spontaneous hardon. 

“You’re the DJ.” He meant it as a question. It didn’t come out that way. 

“Um… Yeah?” Otabek gave him a half smile, unsure. 

“You’re the DJ. The fucking DJ.” Yuri’s voice started trailing louder and he suddenly sounded like himself: not intimidated anymore, not lost in thought. Just impulsive and loud. “That is so. Fucking. Cool.”

Otabek chuckled. He took Yuri by his wrist and lead him closer to the console, placing the headphones on his ears.  Downing half the beer in one gulp, he put the bottle down and directed his hands to the keys, leaning onto the blond to listen through the headphones. 

Yuri felt like he was on fire, the heat of Otabek’s chest on his back, his hands by Yuri’s sides, almost touching his hips from time to time, the warm breath on his neck.

He wanted to tell him to stop; he was gonna lose the little self-control he still had left. He wanted to turn around and kiss him and guess how his skin tasted under the flavored gloss. Every inch of it. 

He wanted to pull Otabek away from the console and pinn him onto the wall and kiss him until the world disappeared around them.

He couldn’t do any of those. He could, however, finish his drink and keep on dancing in between Otabek’s body and the console. He went for it, watching Otabek finish his beer a second after and gesturing towards the bar. 

Yuri saw Nuro nodding and detached himself from Otabek’s embrace, returning the headphones and leaning his back against the rail that separated the booth from the dancefloor, a few steps down. 

Otabek just let him do, sinking into his cocoon again, dancing alone on the booth as if the music was intertwined on the slow motions of his hips, traveling to the roll of his shoulders and down again. Yuri couldn’t stop watching. 

He didn’t want to stop watching. He wanted to save the image of his friend completely immersed in the music, bouncing and rolling his hips and dancing. Not hiding for once. He didn’t even flinch when the camera on Yuri’s phone started rolling; he didn’t even turn until the tune became lighter for a bit and Yuri put his phone down, hiding it back on his pocket. He felt a brush against his shoulder and turned to see Aidana with a drink for him on one hand and a black beer and a shot glass holding some black liquid on it on the other. She rapidly pressed the drink against his hand and turned to Otabek, who  flinched visibly at the touch of the cold beer glass against his neck. They exchanged some words Yuri didn’t understand, and she dropped the shot glass straight into the pint. Yuri didn’t need to know what her following words were exactly; by Otabek’s expression he knew it was a taunt. That worked - He downed the whole pint in a second and was about to give the glass back when Yuri got an idea.

After all, that looked badass as hell. 

“Wait, Beka! Let me take a pic!” Otabek stopped suddenly and stared at the blonde who stood in front of him and put his camera up so they both could fit in the shot. Aidana silently moved away: Yuri was convinced he imagined the smirk on her face.  

Otabek crossed an arm in front of Yuri’s chest, tilting his empty glass with his thumb and pinky finger under it for support. The moment after the photo was snapped he offered his glass to Aidana who took it and headed off, a clear smile dancing on her lips. Otabek changed the pace into a toned up version of a song Yuri knew he had heard [ before ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ofrB6OCSsgk) . He felt the lyrics resonating within him, slower, milder than the rest of the set, making him slowly sip his drink and dance and grind against Otabek absentmindedly, as if his body had a mind of its own and wanted to feel much more of his friend’s body, the erection his pants couldn’t hide against the slope of Yuri’s ass.  He felt the hand on his waist encouraging him to go on, syncing their movements in one, the shallow breath Otabek tried to control while still working on his console. 

The thought of Otabek trying to ignore him suddenly clouded Yuri’s judgement. That or the alcohol. Or the numbness on his skin, or the world suddenly getting blurry and loud and somehow far off. He turned to let his head rest on the crook of Otabek’s neck, breathing hard against his skin. 

“You have no right.”

Otabek tilted his head to look at him, one brow crooked up, questioningly. Yuri saw this as a permission to continue, slurring his words.

“You have no right to be this hot.”

Otabek laughed it off, biting his lip. It felt like a kick to Yuri’s stomach. Had he just gotten rejected? Sure, he wasn’t exactly sober, but he wasn’t so out of his wits not to understand that. 

He tried to stand up on his own and felt his body suddenly way too light; the hand on his waist pulled him hard against Otabek’s chest again and the whiplash forced him to close his eyes to stop the room from spinning around him. He heard words but- 

“What?”

A chuckle. “I said that’s something coming from you.”  Yuri glanced up at his friend, trying to put two and two together. He’d never confessed how hard that was after three drinks and a shot of whatever that thing was. He should have known better than to take anything Mila offered him. 

Otabek leaned into his ear to murmur, no, purr the words so sweetly Yuri felt like melting into his embrace. 

“You look gorgeous, Yura.” Yuri felt the hand on his waist slowly traveling down. “I need you to go down.”

Something in Yuri’s mind short circuited.  _ Down? As in… _ He rapidly shook the idea off: he couldn’t possibly mean that. Right?

He pulled off of his embrace to stare at him, trying to figure out what his next move should be. Even though he knew his mind was in some sort of trance, and his body felt numb like it wasn’t his own, his mouth dry, his lust wanting for so much more. He tried to hide it all.

He almost tripped on his own feet. He couldn’t. Damn booze. Otabek spoke again, this time firmer.

“Yura, go down. Take a glass of water.” He moved forward to put his hands on Yuri’s shoulders, “Take a break.”

Yuri felt himself nodding at the suggestion and launching forward to kiss, no,  _ lick _ , at his friend’s lips before turning around and leaving, leaning on the wall and taking his time walking down each step. 

He didn’t need to turn around to know Otabek was still staring at him, completely stunned. Although he couldn't have guessed the way Otabek’s fingers were touching his lips, calculating if he had just imagined that or not. 

Yuri couldn’t mind, his head was a mess of blurred images and thoughts completely disconnected from each other. He went to sit on the bar when a hand dragged him out into the dance floor. 

He saw himself practically surrounded for familiar faces: a girl with half her hair neon green and pulled up, a sort of face mask covering her mouth, some long haired guy laughing his heart out while dancing, a grinning girl, her chocolate gaze too familiar to him, holding his hand, guiding him through the music, and of course, the cheerful red haired girl bouncing and giggling over the beat. 

He’d follow Mila anywhere. He trusted her blindly. 

He let himself go through the electronic rhythm pounding, resonating with his chest. 

He smiled.  

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri woke up in a daze: a hammering on his head and a high pitched noise piercing his ears. He felt like he had just been on the ice for three days nonstop: his body wouldn’t respond to his commands. He was suddenly a toy doll made out of lead, too heavy to stand up. 

He tried to put pieces of the night together and remembered barely a little of it. Damn it, he became like Katsudon a bit too fast. 

But Otabek was there; that much he knew. Dancing. DJing, actually. Moving along his own body.  _ Against _ his own body. Close enough to feel all of him, even through the jeans…

Yuri started panicking: had he done something out of place? Had he fucked up? He couldn’t remember, he couldn’t fucking remember. Just the prickling on his skin when this friend spoke into his ear.

_ You look gorgeous, Yura. _

Heat started crawling on his face and he hid it against the pillow again. Had he really said that? Of course he had said that, he’d been drinking too, hadn’t he? He must have been affected by it as well. 

It wasn’t like Otabek had dreamt of him the way Yuri did. It wasn’t like he somehow  _ made _ Yuri dance so close to him he ended up grinding his body against the older guy’s crotch.

Oh, shit, the grinding. Yuri was just so glad the club didn’t have an actual pole on the dance floor. He decided he’d never talk about that night. And never  _ ever _ would go out drinking with the annoying couple. They would never have the chance to see him make a spectacle out of himself like Piggy did. Ever. 

 

He felt the door opening and shot up, regretting it in an instant: everything started moving under his feet again, and his stomach twisted. He felt the stale taste of alcohol and lime and that shit lip gloss crawling onto his mouth again. 

He stood in front of the mirror: whoever had brought him home had taken his boots out and carefully left them under a chair where his jacket was hanging from His braid was still in place, even though his hair was a fluffy mess, and his eyes were all around stained in black. He walked to the jacket to retrieve his phone when he heard him.

“Yuri, where the hell were you??” Yakov was hysterical to say the least: white as a paper, lips trembling and hands balled into fists. Yuri only had seen him like that a handful of times. That really did meant trouble. “You think you get to sneak out in the night and come back passed out on some.. Some… Orangutan's arms?” 

So, Nuro had brought him home. He had to remember thanking that guy. He wasn’t so bad after all. Nor was the raven haired girl, or the other two. They were all Beka’s friends after all. They couldn’t be that bad at all. 

“Yuri, are you even listening???” He realized he had just zoned out, pulling pieces of scenes and sensations together, trying to make sense of the night before. 

“Yeah yeah, I am. But they’re not bad people, Yakov.” He didn’t dare raising his voice: the stinging on his ears with Yakov’s yelling alone was enough.

“Not bad people? Have you  _ seen _ them?” His voice started quivering out of rage. 

“They brought me home, didn’t they?” He checked his phone: he had texts from six different conversations to read. Four of them from unknown numbers.

“Yes, of course, they got you drunk enough so you couldn’t do it yourself!”  _ I did that, _ he wanted to answer. But he didn’t dare. They were Beka’s friend, they were fine people. But Yakov hadn’t mentioned Otabek; he probably didn’t know. It was better to leave it at that.

“You’re not going anywhere without company until we get back to Saint Petersburg, do you hear me?”

“Yes, I hear you. Yakov.”  _ Now just please stop screeching on my ear and leave. _

 

As soon as the old man slammed the door shut behind him, Yuri opened up instagram to post the selfie he took back at the DJ booth (  _ who knew @otabek-altin could be this cool #DJAltin #bestnightever) _ . He decided it wasn’t quite enough, yet he did only take one photo throughout the night. 

He didn’t wanna wash up just yet: there was something alluring on the traces of the night before. He read over the texts, just to check who were them. 

> _ Are you feeling OK? Drink lots of water tomorrow and have a good breakfast. You rocked, kiddo. N. _

_ > Hey, you almost passed out on me, be careful tomorrow, yeah? A. _

_ > Nice moves boy. You’re not a champ for nothing. Take care. Dasha _

_ > Whenever you want let’s rock the place up again. You and our little Altin make quite a pair. Azad _

He could only assume those texts came from Otabek’s friends. Yakov was so completely wrong: these guys weren’t a danger at all. They were trying to take care of his hangover even from the far. 

He knew who those other two messages were from. 

> (Beka) [3:13] Don’t tease me like that, Yura. 

> (Mila) [5:16] its gonna b hell tomorrow. Ill go get u,k?

Yuri decided to take a selfie, showing his teeth in a growling gesture at the camera, before hitting the shower. He really needed to get that awful breath out of him. He could answer them later.

  
  


He took his phone the minute he stepped out of the shower, hair still wet and dripping onto the carpeted floor and a towel around his waist. Of course, he had a good number of notifications from crazed Yuri’s Angels and crazier Viktor (you went out?? You weren’t allowed! I told you not to!!). As if his dramatic scolding would ever stop Yuri from doing anything. At best, it encouraged him further. 

And he was tagged on a post. A picture he barely remembered: the whole gang, Mila by one side and Yuri at the other, the heels of his boots shinning against the coloured lights, and Otabek leaning on the rail from the booth, headphones in his shoulders, and a hand brushing his hair off his forehead. Yuri felt his mouth go dry. How could the guy be so sexy without even  _ trying _ ? 

Although the description of the picture was what startled him the most. First, because of the hashtags. Second, because it was in English on an account written almost exclusively on Kazakh. 

_ @mila-babicheva and @yuri-plisetsky official honorary members of the #KazGang  _ _  
_ _ @Otabek-altin you’ll have to fight your champion title now? #DJAltin on the house #DontBotherKnocking   _

He could tell it was Nuro who posted it. They were not bad at all. 

He wanted to return the nice gesture. Slapping a filter on it, he posted his morning picture under the description ‘#KazGang knows how to party.’ and tagging each one of their accounts on it. 

They answered soon enough. Dasha on what it looked like a balcony, her hair loose and arranged in a black and green curled mane and sipping on a bright pink milkshake, some of her eyeliner still on. Azad still on the bed with a blond girl by his side covering her face, both apparently topless and laughing. Nuro on a dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a vest, carefully sipping on his coffee like a gentleman, one brow corked up. 

And the last one was from Otabek’s account. Aidana, wearing the Kazakh’s team jacket, had her arm around Otabek’s shoulder, leaning on him, winking and showing his tongue to the camera. Otabek was barely holding her hand, a tired half smile plastered on his face. 

Yuri felt his heart stop for a second. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t have a girlfriend, right? He would have said something.

Not like he’d mentioned before he was a DJ, but still… He could have said something instead of letting Yuri dance practically on top of him, grind against him. He could have said something instead of grabbing his ass, instead of pressing his boner against Yuri. What the fucking hell. 

He scrolled down. 

_ @aidana-altin the Altin siblings approve of the newcomers on the #KazGang. And what a night that was #YesThisIsBigSisSpeaking #DJAltin #2Cool4Selfies #BigSisTakeOver _

They were siblings.

Of course they were siblings. They had the same exact stare, like they were reading your soul like a book, the same fond smile. 

He should have known. 

A rush of warmth enveloped him suddenly. The kind he felt when his grandfather put a little kitten in his arms and told him to look after him. The kind he felt when Mila dried his tears for the first time after a bad fall on the ice. The kind he felt when grasping Otabek’s hand for the first time in Barcelona. 

He had just made friends. Again. People who cared for him enough to text the minute they tucked him into bed. Who let people know he was with them now. 

Who wouldn’t abandon him at the first opportunity they had. He trusted they wouldn’t. 

He leaned his back against the closet’s door, smiling. 

He wasn’t alone anymore. Not by a long shot. 

  
  


The cellphone rang on his hand. Viktor was calling. 

He might not be alone but he did have a pretty long, tedious day ahead. But he still had a particular video of a particular beautiful man dancing in a particular way on his phone. 

He could put up with it.

He answered.

  
  



End file.
